


Estrela

by girlgoneblack



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Match, One Shot, One-sided feelings, Overprotective Piqué, Pining Cristiano, new feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:22:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlgoneblack/pseuds/girlgoneblack
Summary: Cristiano Ronaldo discovers new feelings for his rival, Messi.





	Estrela

**Author's Note:**

> So I've discovered the fandom maybe two weeks ago, so this is my first Cressi fic (a.k.a. what the fuck did I just do?).
> 
> Guys, I know close to nothing about football (apart from watching the FIFA & UEFA games), so please, excuse this fic altogether. I have no idea what I just did.
> 
> In this fic, Ronaldo is still at Real Madrid of course, and Neymar at Barça, cuz I think it sucks they left.
> 
> The title means "star" in Portuguese. There are a few hidden words in Spanish and Portuguese in this fic, curtesy of Google Translate, because I unfortunately speak neither of those languages. But if you do and spot a mistake, please let me know so I stop embarrassing myself.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Cheers!

   Cristiano Ronaldo never saw it coming – and when it hit him, it hit him _hard_. Like a ton of bricks falling on a blind and deaf man.

   He knew Messi, of course. Saw him on the field, at ceremonies, parties, sometimes in the corridors. Talked to him a few times – and Leo Messi always replied with that smooth, steady voice, that was so calm and soft, but held a powerful undertone at the same time. That voice always entranced him, pulling him towards the small Argentinian. Sucking him in like a black void.

   It hypnotized him.

   Cristiano had worshiped the guy since… Forever. Messi was his hero, his dream, his goal. He had all the natural talent Cristiano had always had to work so hard for. When he watched him play, it was more like he was seeing a dance, a ballet – Messi was full of grace, moving on the pitch like a flame running in a dry forest after dark, the ball more an extension of his body rather than a simple object he kicked around.  

   But it had never occurred to Cristiano Ronaldo – not once, during all those years, not until that one fated football match – that he might actually be in love with Leo Messi.

   It was just a simple game, Barça playing against Real – some match that wasn’t even _that_ important, on an ordinary day, with ordinary people playing and cheering. Even the weather was ordinary.

   But for Cristiano, it changed _everything_.

   Messi scored a goal, like every other day, and he just flashed his smile, his ordinary, every day smile – the shy, almost unsure, little beam, the one he always did, as if, even after all those years, he still didn’t believe that he was the best player in the world and that he could score a goal like that. His dimples appeared, his warm brown eyes crinkled around the corners, his laugh full of mirth drowned by the cheers of the crowd, and he swept his unruly, chocolate hair off his eyes, while Neymar swooped him off his feet in a bear like hug and Piqué bent down to kiss his temple in that affectionate manner he reserved for Messi and Messi only.

   Just like always.

   What wasn’t usual was Cristiano’s sudden pounding heart, the blood ringing in his ears as he watched Messi’s glowing face, his cheeks flushing and his throat closing up, his breathing quickening even more, his hands suddenly trembling, and one word appearing in his frozen brain: love.

   It took him awhile to come to terms with those newfound feelings – after all, Messi was still his greatest rival. He tried talking about it with Sergio, but he got only as far as “ _I think I’m in love_ ” before his captain exploded in a laughing fit and had to get out of the locker room to get some air and calm himself down. James actually listened to him a bit, being very kind and professional about it.

   But the best advice concerning his problem came from Maria, the old lady he bought his strawberries from and who lived a good hour or so outside of Madrid, in a quiet village where people didn’t really care who he was.

   “Ay, _hijo_ ” she told him, seeing him tired and beat down. “Don’t let your heart become too heavy. It weighs you down. Young people like you should fly high above the ground. We all fall down on earth sooner or later, _querido_. So if you have to get your wings clipped at some point in your life, why not enjoy the stars, instead of settling for simple rain clouds?”

   It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Cristiano finally understood the meaning of those words, as he watched Messi score yet another goal, as he felt his heart grow in pride, his eyes prickle with tears of joy and a smile splitting his face in half. He wanted to run to Leo Messi and take the small Argentinian in his arms, feel his soft skin and his hard muscles under his fingers, kiss every spot of his pale body and mark this bare canvas as his. He wanted to share his happiness, support him in pain and sadness and give him everything that was his and more.

   Leo Messi was his star.

   So Cristiano waited – he waited for that moment, when he could finally say what he felt, put to words that feeling he held deep inside his heart.

   And maybe Cristiano should have waited. Maybe he should have tried to find those words, put them together nicely. Maybe he should have thought about a romantic dinner.

   But Cristiano Ronaldo just wasn’t that kind of a man. He was way too impulsive, too proud, his emotions always overflowing so quickly. And that’s probably why he never got as far as the romantic dinner.

   It was just a simple game, Barça playing against Real – some match that wasn’t even _that_ important, on an ordinary day, with ordinary people playing and cheering. Even the weather was ordinary.

   It was as simple as the day it had all started.

   Except this time, it wasn’t Messi who scored – it was Cristiano.

   It was a great goal, done from the side, one minute from the end. The ball flew over Stegen’s extended hands and landed in the net. There was an uproar coming from the white tribunes, and Cristiano ran straight into Marcelo’s embrace, laughing like a madman.

   That’s when he saw him – standing a couple dozen feet away, Neymar whispering in his ear and cradling his neck with one hand. Messi just nodded and slowly returned to his position on the field.

   Cristiano had never felt more sure of anything in his entire life. Yes, he was sure of a lot of things – well, mainly himself – but _this_ … This was _it_.

   He untangled himself from his teammates’ embrace and strode towards the small Argentinian, one sure step after another. He noticed from the corner of his eye a few blaugranas tensing or adopting protective stances – Piqué even baring his teeth, taking a menacing step towards him the more he approached their darling Leo.

   Cristiano planted his feet in front of a clearly astonished Messi – because, let’s be honest, what could someone from the opposing team be looking for with him after scoring a goal, other than a fight or a chance to brag?

   The smaller man’s face turned to look Cristiano straight in the eyes, his warm, dark eyes swimming with confusion, hair sticking in every direction, words on the tip of his tongue, ready to leave his perfect mouth. But Cristiano never gave him the chance.

   He leaned down, closing the gap between their lips steadily and surely, and soon his body followed, slotting itself against the warm mass of muscles and pale skin standing in front of him. He tangled both his hands in Messi’s perfectly disheveled hair, pulling just the slightest amount, and gave a tentative lick to the Argentinian’s lower lip.

   For a few seconds there, Cristiano forgot where he was, forgot about every other person apart from himself and Messi, so engrossed in the feeling of those lips against his. He barely heard the roar coming from the tribunes, the clicks and flashes as the photographers immortalized this moment, their teammates' and their coaches’ shouts.

   Messi didn’t push him away. He stood there, apparently too shocked to move. Cristiano kissed him slowly, pouring all his love and adoration into that one kiss, which could be his last as much as it was his first.

   After what seemed like ages, but passed like mere seconds, he felt a sharp yank on his shoulder and he was thrown staggering backwards by an angry – no, by an _utterly pissed-off_ – Luis Suárez, while Piqué put himself between Cristiano and Messi, shouting some profanities in Spanish.

   The referee was smart enough to blow the whistle, signaling the end of the game, and urging everyone to get off the pitch.

   Cristiano felt like something scrambled with his brain, replacing his every rational thought with one word: _Messi_. He had never even imagined that someone could have that kind of effect on him.

   And as someone from his team – most probably Benzema – tugged him towards the exit, whispering something along the lines of “ _We better leave this mess, Cris”_ , the stadium going wild around him, some reporters even jumping the fence, running in his direction to ask some questions, Cristiano turned around to look at the mess he was leaving behind: the two teams arguing between each other and among themselves, the contrast between the white and the blue never more striking – and somewhere on the side, forgotten by almost everyone except a worrying Piqué who was standing next to him and talking fast, making nervous hand gestures, probably more shocked and confused than everyone else, was Messi – Messi, the man Cristiano had just kissed.

   Cristiano caught Leo’s lost gaze and smiled, mouthing the only words that came to his mind:

   “ _Minha estrela_.”

   For a few seconds, Cristiano wasn’t even sure if the Argentinian had understood him, as he didn’t react. But then Messi’s lips slowly stretched into his innocent, childish smile, his eyes twinkling with mirth, and he shook his head in exasperation, laughing under the gaze of a very confused Piqué.

   Cristiano shoot him back a cheeky smile and he knew, never mind the thousands of people surrounding them, that moment was only theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> (I just love the idea of them kissing on the pitch, like... Can you imagine the shock lmao? And the other players?)


End file.
